


Hang Ups

by SparkFlipClick



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sex & Gender Changes, Ex-Girlfriends, F/F, Fingering, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25331821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkFlipClick/pseuds/SparkFlipClick
Summary: Girls on bad terms, but not bad enough, really
Relationships: Hibiki Wataru/Hidaka Hokuto
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Hang Ups

**Author's Note:**

> Cisswaps but no name changes. I drafted this in summer 2019 and I stand by all of my choices from then  
> Cw full consent but some mixed feelings during/after

“Do you remember the last time we had rain like this?”

Rain like this - wet, endless, resonating and splashing off every surface, bringing evening darkness with it hours early, fogging the windows with moisture and making the summer humidity doubly unbearable, Hokuto knows, the moment she steps out of this air-conditioned building. Rain like this - so thunderously loud it's audible even inside the Theatre Club room.

She remembers the last time it rained like this all right - she remembers the four of Trickstar jostling for cover under Mao's single big umbrella on the way to the station. She'd shouted at Subaru for splashing in puddles and getting all their socks wet. But she also remembers exactly the time Wataru means, _last time,_ just from the cheery, overly curious way she asks it; she's digging for a reaction, mostly. Digging up memories Hokuto isn't sure she wants to remember - that she _does_ want to remember, but isn't sure if she wants to want to... It must have been nearly a year since then, though it feels longer.

“No,” she says. 

“You are a poor liar as ever, Hokuto-chan,” Wataru tells her, and she darts in from her restless pacing around the room to flick Hokuto's forehead with a glossy fingernail before returning again. Even that endless energy is different - Hokuto remembers, last time, that she'd been typically listless, trailing Hokuto all the way to the school's entryway in silence. As they walked, Hokuto had just barely heard her mimicking the sound of the rain in the back of her mouth. 

Then it had all started deviating from routine, because then Hokuto had realised she'd forgotten her umbrella, and her raincoat. Grandma always said she shouldn't go out in rainstorms without either.

“Did you forget your umbrella this time too?” Wataru asks in the present, predicting her thoughts.

“No,” she answers again, a reflexive denial, and realises to her horror it's not true. “I mean, none of your business. I'd rather go get soaking wet in any thunderstorm than wait it out with _you.”_

“You've already stayed later than Tomoya-chan,” Wataru points out.

“That was for a good reason. But we're done. Look, I'm packing up now.” She fetches her schoolbag from underneath the sofa and starts replacing her things inside, each in its proper spot. Script, book, pencil case. She wishes she'd left with Tomoya; it had only been drizzling then.

A flurry, of skirts and hair and perfume wafting into her face, and suddenly Wataru is perched right next to her, peering at her with that cheery curious look again. “Come on now, Hokuto-chan, surely you don’t hate the memory that much? We had fun back in those days, didn’t we?”

 _Fun_ \- that's what she'd said _last time_ too, wasn't it? “Let’s not suffer that miserable trudge through the rain, Hokuto-chan,” she'd said, with a glance at the downpour outside. “Let’s just stay in the clubroom until it lightens up. It'll be more fun this way.” She'd tugged at Hokuto's hand, and Hokuto had followed with only a little trepidation, interlinking their sweaty fingers together and remarking that it was probably a good idea, since the rain was forecast to stop at seven anyway. 

It hadn't stopped at seven, of course - but she shouldn't be thinking about that. ”What's the point of bringing it up now?” She stands, hoists her bag. “You're a villain, you're a menace; I won't fraternise with the enemy. And anything from before you turned traitor was just a waste of my time. I'm leaving.”

“Hokuto-chan - wait.“ Wataru actually grabs her, by the arm. “I thought I made my allegiances quite clear when I delivered that letter to you.” 

The letter that had saved her at her darkest moment. And in retrospect it was irritating enough that it had been Wataru delivering it. It had been irritating enough to feel so indebted to her. Hokuto turns. “Your allegiances - to whoever is convenient? To whatever cause happens to benefit you at the time?” she snaps. “I saw you with Tenshouin after, right there onstage - you could have been helping me just to get her attention.”

Wataru’s eyebrows raise, looking up at Hokuto through her messy silver fringe. “You don’t think that.” 

“I... don’t,” Hokuto admits, and some of the fire goes out of her. She needs to stay honest with herself at least. “Sorry, Buchou. That was unfair of me. No, it was ungrateful.”

“I don’t want gratitude, Hokuto-chan,” Wataru murmurs. She pulls Hokuto closer, close enough to smell her perfume again, close enough Hokuto stumbles trying not to bump into her. “We've had so many arguments like this. What do I have to do for you to forgive me?”

Hokuto doesn't know. But when Wataru slides that hand down to touch hers, Hokuto still tangles their fingers together, like last time.

She shouldn't do that - she shouldn't even let the Masked Pervert within arm's reach, should definitely never end up touching her. Should especially definitely never reciprocate. This is a bad idea. All she's doing is making herself more vulnerable. 

“You can't regret it completely,” Wataru says. Her other hand traces Hokuto's waist. Hokuto stays very still. 

The issue is that she wants to go back too.

She liked that secret of theirs. She remembers, that rainy day, hurrying back to the soft lighting of their clubroom, where the rain was muffled and the privacy was absolute. She'd been careful to shut the door behind them, though hardly anybody ever peered in that door anyway, or even acknowledged its existence - often it felt like the clubroom was their very own invisible pocket dimension, a world where different rules applied. Rules like you can kiss her for no reason and she'll still kiss you back - she’d learned that only recently. Rules like you can get so close, idly talking and touching, that for a moment you can forget the enormity of the gap between you. 

That was the feeling Hokuto had been pursuing again, that day. They'd talked for a long time, nestled shoulder to shoulder on the striped couch - about inconsequential things, though many of them gave her a headache if she tried to think about them properly, because Wataru was always preoccupied with puzzling, difficult ideas like the necessity of art in society or the role of the other in shaping the self or the vintage musical posters she'd ordered recently. But Hokuto liked puzzles, so.

They'd fallen into silence after a while. “You're not still thinking about all that role of the other rubbish, are you?” Wataru asked, elbowing her gently. “Don’t waste your energy on that, it was mostly nonsense.” 

"I am," Hokuto replied. "I was thinking - "

"Don't think," Wataru commanded. "Instead pay attention to _me,"_ she added, the hint of a whine in her voice, and she slung her arms around Hokuto and pressed her face against her shoulder. 

"Attention seeking is immature," Hokuto reminded her. 

“That’s because children are the only ones who are uninhibited enough to be satisfied by such pure happiness,” Wataru said. Hokuto didn’t understand this. She could also feel Wataru’s lips moving against the bare skin of her upper arm as she spoke; for now, rather than trying to understand any further, she twisted in Wataru’s arms to kiss her. To pay attention to her like she asked. 

The first one was awkward, so she took Wataru’s face in both hands and tried again, and again - Wataru giggled into it and kissed back, pressing closer, clambering on top of her so she had to crane her neck back to reciprocate the next one. Wataru never missed a beat, her kisses were always light and gentle and perfect even open-mouthed, and Hokuto was frustrated by it even as her heartbeat started to accelerate, her face heating and sweat prickling all down her back as she pushed back into each kiss. 

They’d never done this for so long before, Hokuto had no idea if she was doing well or not - their kisses until now had always felt like a game, frivolous affection that she would have thought beneath her if it had been with anyone else. But this was serious, this was filling her with sensations and making her breath come short. She was certain, so certain that she could do better than she was doing.

Eventually Wataru pulled away. Hokuto watched her lick her lips before she opened her mouth to speak. Pink skin spread and shone over white teeth as she formed each syllable with immaculate diction. In retrospect, Hokuto had been a little fixated. She'd wondered too much about the way Wataru's tongue must contort against her throat to mimic all those voices and sounds, or caught sight of her backstage one too many times, applying fresh lipstick before a performance with parted lips and slow, deliberate strokes. 

"Hokuto-chan," she was saying, distantly it seemed. "You seem… upset? Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine," Hokuto said - then Wataru touched two fingertips to her forehead and she realised she was frowning hard.

Wataru smiled at her. "We don't have to... well, we can do whatever you want, you know. You don't have to hold back."

It felt like Wataru was expecting an answer. What exactly did Hokuto want to do? It wasn't a question she was used to answering; she always busy with what she _should_ do. While she was still thinking about it Wataru stood up and moved away from her, and the moment was gone, leaving her shivering a little in the warmth.

They might not be the Film Appreciation Club, but they still had an old projector, and the curtains on one side of the clubroom opened to reveal a nice blank wall. Wataru turned out all the lights and they watched something Hokuto can't remember any longer, only that it had been black-and-white and Wataru had whispered in her ear the whole time, absently commenting on the technique of the actors in each scene - it was educational, Hokuto had told herself, but she also understood that Wataru just liked people to listen to her voice, so she had been happy to listen, and to reply every now and then.

Afterwards she opened the door again and stared across the corridor out the window. Inside, she was tired, and making a mess of her plans for the day, but also oddly peaceful. Outside, the rain that had been scheduled to clear away was still painting frenzied stripes of wet drops against the glass with every surge of lukewarm wind.

"Buchou," she said, hearing Wataru coming up behind her. "I guess I should just stay overnight."

"Oh - really? Like a sleepover?"

"Yeah." 

She turned. Wataru was beaming at her. "Like an actual, normal sleepover that real teenagers do?" she pressed.

Hokuto rolled her eyes, but she was glad that Wataru seemed genuinely excited and happy about her suggestion. "I'm sure a normal one would be at one of our houses. And you can't fuss about with my hair or play foolish games like in American movies. I want a good night's sleep like always."

"Ah, you always worry too much about the small details, Hokuto-chan! It is, it's a sleepover!" Wataru yelled, and she cackled and ran straight past Hokuto out of the clubroom and down the deserted corridor. "Come on!" Hokuto followed at a more respectable pace, mulling over Wataru's endless enthusiasm at small things like this.

Soon after Hokuto discovered that the Theatre Club owned pillows, blankets and even a mattress, used in some old stage set. Somehow they lugged everything back to the clubroom, aided mostly by Wataru's improbable strength. The mattress landed in the centre of the room with a great thump, and Hokuto landed on it with another thump, breathing hard.

Wataru's face bobbed down into her vision. "Hokuto-chan? Is it your bedtime already?" Hokuto hmmed agreement. "Pity! I had lots more planned. But that's fine. Are we by any chance going to be sharing this mattress?" 

"Obviously," Hokuto said.

"You can be such a fussy girl sometimes, I wouldn't be surprised if you banished me to the sofa," Wataru sniffed.

"No, I wouldn’t," said Hokuto vaguely, unable to think of a better rebuttal in the moment. She mustered the energy to get up and undress, hanging up her school uniform neatly on the rack of costumes. Shirt and skirt: they looked incongruous there, bland blocks of grey and white unable to compete against the other outfits' medley of different colours and materials and concepts.

"I can go get your sports kit if you want to use that for pyjamas." Wataru was sitting down on the mattress now, staring at the ceiling.

"No need. It's too hot for pyjamas anyway." Hokuto sat down next to her; the mattress squeaked faintly. Wataru only glanced at her before returning her gaze upward. Hokuto thought hard about this. "Buchou - are you being… shy or something? We already see each other half-naked while changing, don't we?" 

Wataru laughed. "Well, this is a rather different situation to that, isn't it? Sharing a bed, so to speak. I wouldn’t want to, ah, make things uncomfortable - I mean, all of this is already… You didn’t seem to like what we were doing earlier, Hokuto-chan." 

At this point Hokuto realised firstly, all the stuff she had been mentally avoiding about this situation, and secondly, that Wataru was trying to be _considerate._ Wataru spent so much of her time being completely inconsiderate, moody, and uncommunicative that the idea was a little ridiculous. 

"Hibiki-buchou, I liked it," she said, as firmly as she could. "I definitely did. And you can look at me." She shuffled over and planted her hands on Wataru's shoulders; Wataru blinked at her. "You don't need to hold back. Go ahead and have your way with me."

Wataru ducked her face into her hands. "Hokuto-chan, _please_ don't phrase it like that, I beg you," she said. Hokuto opened her mouth - "No, don't reword it either," she added quickly. She leaned forward and hugged Hokuto, arms hot and smooth against her back. "Thank you for reassuring me," she said. "Let's not get too focused on… achieving any particular goals, okay?" 

Hokuto could think of plenty of goals she felt very focused on at the moment, many involving various parts of their bodies coming into contact, but then Wataru turned out the light and Hokuto was too absorbed trying desperately to hear the soft fabric sounds of undressing over the creak of the air conditioner and the thumping of her own heart to say another word. 

Looking back, it all seems so unbearably innocent. They'd just fooled around a bit, wasting good time, though it had seemed the natural and obvious thing to do in the moment. And then autumn had come and everything had become violently different, and now the Wataru looking up at her couldn't be described as innocent in the slightest. 

But Wataru is an _actress._ It's almost impossible to believe that she's the same person as before, but not quite. Hokuto has so many of those memories tugging at her mind. At the same time, she's an actress, so she could've been faking in those memories too. Or she could be faking now in a way that induces false memories of herself faking back then. Or...

Hokuto has been staring so intently, she's been trying so hard to understand that she's forgotten to spare a thought for her grudge. She becomes very aware of how much they're touching, and of the curious, quiet way that Wataru is staring back at her.

"No," she says. "Stop being so confusing. I don't want to deal with this anymore." She stands, and shoves Wataru away as she moves to follow - it's not hard but she falls back against the sofa with a thud and an exaggerated girly gasp of pain. 

"Hokuto-chan, you've gotten _rough,"_ she says, eyes wide and a smile broadening on her face, "Amazing, I can really feel the passion - "

"Shut up," Hokuto says, angry and painfully relieved at the strength of the anger. "It's despicable, you only want to embarrass me, you only want to laugh at me for being naive enough to give you a second chance, don't you - " 

Wataru _is_ laughing now, her body shakes with it, and Hokuto grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her head back and kisses her to make it stop. She'd have done anything if she thought it would throw Wataru off balance at that point; it's definitely just a coincidence that it also happened to be exactly what both of them wanted. 

Wataru sighs into it, tugs back against Hokuto's grip in her hair. Hokuto thinks of how she'd asked for her hair pulled, that first time, breathless as she lifted her head from between Hokuto's legs - she doesn't want to remember that. She breaks away, frustrated.

"Mm. You _could_ wake a princess with a kiss like that," Wataru decides, smiling. "Though again, it's not exactly Prince Charming material." 

Hokuto half-kneels on the sofa to get closer to her, kissing her again and running her hands up her skirt, shirt, wherever she can manage. "This is like getting body-searched by an icepack," Wataru muses, but she sounds pleased.

"Look, I'm not interested in getting critique from you right now."

"Then you'll need to do a better job of keeping me quiet, won't you?"

Hokuto sighs and begins to undo the fiddly buttons on Wataru's vest and shirt. Wataru helps her along, reaching back and unhooking her bra so Hokuto can get her hands underneath it when her shirt falls open.

"Rough, and shameless," Wataru says, and sucks in a breath as Hokuto puts her hands to use. "Not a bad change at all." 

"You're one to talk about shame," Hokuto mutters. Wataru hums agreement, and runs her own hand up Hokuto's thigh to squeeze her ass.

That feels good, in a bad way, and the strangled noise she makes reflects this. Wataru looks far too smug about it; eventually Hokuto gets impatient and wedges both hands in Wataru's panties instead. When her fingers touch slick heat she goes straight for what will be most effective, and vigorously. 

"Oh, this is -" Wataru rolls her head to the side, and bites her lip like she's actually admitting to enjoying it. "It's as if you've never heard of pacing." 

"You used to like it this way," Hokuto says. 

Wataru huffs. “You just lack any sort of finesse,” she says. Her voice goes light. "It's the same with acting, you're not built for it. You're such a good girl, so good you don't have an erotic bone in your body, do you? An idol's only pleasure comes from making her fans smile. You've no idea how to be anything else. Oh, the tragedy - " 

Sex makes her embarrassed, and embarrassed makes her talkative; habit makes her insult Hokuto. It shouldn't be, but it's _very_ endearing. 

And hot. Hokuto works her aching fingers faster, listening to the way Wataru's voice goes tight and breathless - quotes and stupid movie lines spilling out of her mouth as she loses control - it's very hot. The way she relents and gasps Hokuto's name as she comes - it makes Hokuto feel like she's malfunctioning. She'd forgotten this feeling: empathy plus arousal plus an electrifying sense of _accomplishment._

She hasn't thought about what to do next (she hasn't thought at all, this has been one long impulse) but before she can haul her mind back onto its rails, before she can do more than wipe her hands on Wataru's thighs, Wataru has already manoeuvred her backward and gone onto her knees in front of her. Wataru Hibiki on her knees with her shirt undone and face still flushed from orgasm would derail anyone.

"Hold on," Hokuto says after a moment. "You're… should I sit down." 

"Well, if you want to make this easier for me," Wataru says wryly, and there's only one answer to that. She's already pulling down Hokuto's skirt and underwear.

She leans forward at the same time that Hokuto gets a grip in her hair, and maybe she couldn't think straight earlier, but the actual feeling of that mouth on her is even worse. Better. Different. All of this is different, in fact: the position is new, the context is new, the way her fist tightens against Wataru's scalp out of actual spite is new, and uncomfortable. The silky silver strands running through her fingers are dyed in a new colour. She can't figure out how to respond to it.

"Wait," she says. "Wait a second, I don't - just - stop." Despite her discomfort, her body twitches with the need for more as Wataru obediently pulls away. She ignores it and takes a moment to organise her thoughts. She spreads her skirt underneath her and sits down on it. “Okay, let's keep going.” 

Wataru raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"But don't think you're being nice to me or something. We don’t have to reconcile to do this and I don’t think either of us wants to.”

"Oh, I see." She actually grins. “So...”

Hokuto rolls her eyes. “You spent long enough talking about _finesse_ earlier, buchou, why don’t you hurry up and show me what that’s supposed to mean?”

Wataru lowers her head and shows her something that has absolutely no connection to finesse at all. The way she uses her tongue is noisy and extravagant and somehow demeaning. Hokuto hates it; she hates it so much she has to shut her eyes and put her head back and let her breaths come ragged from the back of her throat as she focuses in on the molten-hot feeling of it. She resists the undignified urge to spread her legs wider for so long that it feels illogical when the next moment she's curling inward with pleasure, tensing all over so hard it almost hurts as Wataru gets her the last bit of the way to orgasm and out the other side too. Wataru always knows exactly when to stop; it used to feel like magic but now it's just maddening.

Hokuto flops backward onto the floor to catch her breath, for once appreciating the thickness of the clubroom’s ornate rug. Wataru follows after, teasing her with a sour kiss.

"Even in things like this you've gotten more expressive," she says. "Or have I just gotten better?"

"You've gotten more annoying," Hokuto says truthfully.

\--

Just as she's preparing to leave, Wataru stops her again. “You can borrow something, I think.” She flits to the other side of the room and extracts it from where it hangs at the back of the costume rack: a long umbrella with a smug-looking papier-mâché parrot for a handle.

Hokuto stares at it for a moment. “This is from your Mary P*ppins show. Which was spring of last year, so you had it last summer too... I could've borrowed it back then.”

“Well... even if that's true, could you really blame me for not mentioning it?” Of course she could, and of course it would be pointless.

"I blame you for choosing now to tell me," she says doggedly. Wataru laughs and presses the umbrella into her hand.


End file.
